xxx

"Hey, little bunny, don't act that way,
I know a fun game we both can play."

xxx

Three nations sit completely composed around a mahogany lacquered table. Two more are lost in their own daydreams (though one participates in the more perverse variety). Another remains stiff in his seat, his arms crossed in front of his chest as he watches the clock and the ever passing second hand. The very last one, who has been silent over the predicament much to the surprise of the others, begins to tremble from an anger that has started from annoyance and only grew from there.

"Where is that blasted idiot!" he finally shouts. "He's a full hour late!"

While his sudden outcry may have caught the attentions of all those present, it's Germany who comments, even agrees, as he slides his eyes away from the clock and settle on the fuming Brit.

"Very unprofessional," he ends in a small grumble under his breath.

"Maybe he stopped off for some pasta!" Italy provides, wanting to calm his friend down using the only favorable excuse he could think of for being late.

"Or for some romantic tryst," France suggests.

"Perhaps there has been a traffic delay," proposes Japan. "Or America-san has run into some sort of trouble."

"Yes," Russia agrees. "Somewhere in the city, there is a broken Amerika lying in a dark alley."

Canada politely tries to remind the two that with America's strength the possibility of such an occurrence is highly unlikely, but he remains ignored.

"Most likely he doesn't even remember our meeting is today," England scoffs. "I wouldn't put it past him, even after making us go through all the trouble of having to congregate in bleeding Los Angeles just for the sake of his own convenience."

He rises from his seat suddenly, the waves of pure aggravation radiating off of him in droves. "I'm not going to put up with this inconsideration," he announces. "The rest of you can stay put if you want, but I'm leaving."

At that moment, the double doors of the conference room slammed open, letting in a rather breathless America. The blonde hangs onto one of the doors, his briefcase hanging listlessly in one hand as he tries to catch his breath before speaking.

"I'm sorry," he gasps. "Late, but… Reason… Homagosh…"

While America is too preoccupied with regaining his ability to breathe properly, the other nations could not help but stare at his attire. He dons on his normal jacket, though his stance causes it to fall of a shoulder blade, revealing bare skin and a black skin tight halter top tucked into a pair of very fitting, very low cut jeans.

America doesn't notice the eyes on him as he staggers towards the front of the room and collapses into his seat, taking in a deep breath that only accentuates his odd apparel from the way his chest heaves out.

"Again," he starts off, "I'm totally sorry, guys, the shoot ran late and by the time I finally got out, traffic was hell. I had to change on the ride over here and it was all so blah!"

He gradually lifts himself forward, the exhaustion quite evident in his posture and continues on with, "I know none of ya wanna hear 'bout it though, so let's just get this show on the road."

"America," England calls out, still standing as he does so.

"What's up?"

England hesitates in continuing, not completely sure how it is he should pursue the subject. Finally, he simply asks, "What is that you are wearing?"

America blinks at him, taking a moment to try to understand the question but remains completely at a loss as to what the other is talking about. He even goes as far as to say as much.

"Your clothing!" England exclaims.

America finally gathers enough sense to simply look down at what it is England could possibly be complaining about now, and to his horror recognizes the problem immediately. He jumps up from his seat, pulling his jacket halfway off in order to further inspect as well as give the others an even better look at what lies beneath. He slaps his hands against his face, muffling a loud embarrassed whine as well as hiding a healthy red flush.

When his hands finally return to his sides, there's only a pink residue left behind on his cheeks.

"I forgot to put my shirt on," he mutters. America looks down further to inspect the bottoms he wears, he even sways his hips a bit, a movement that some pairs of eyes follow devotedly. Not that he really notices as he sighs, "I even grabbed the wrong jeans, these must belong to one of the girls, no wonder they were kinda tight to put on…"

"America," Canada faintly calls out, and is finally being paid some attention. "What were you doing before this?"

America lets out another hefty sigh, and places his hands on the hips, all while tilting to the side and putting his weight on one foot. A quick flash shines through the room, and those closest to him give Japan a wary look towards the object he so inconspicuously hides beneath the table. Still, the distraction is not enough to cause any of them to be less interested in America's explanation. America realizes this himself as their stares remain focused on him.

"I was doing a movie," he says and nothing more.

"What type of film could possibly have you dress in such a manner?" Russia presses.

"Shut the fuck up, that's what type of movie."

"America."

Again, America's attention is diverted back to England, who if anything, looks far too much concerned over a simple matter of odd clothing.

"America," he begins again. "No one is.. forcing you to participate in anything against your will, are they?"

"What? No!" America shakes his head at the thought. "No one forced me to do anything. I did it 'cause Hef's one of my boys, and you always gotta have your boys' back when they're in trouble, y'hear?

"Hef?"

"Just a moment, Amerique," France interrupts. "You do not mean," here he pauses to leer forward, "Monsieur Hugh Hefner?"

"Ooh efner?" America repeats, his eyes scrunch a bit as he tries to break through France's accent. "Oh! You're talking about Hef, yeah, Hugh Hefner."

"I know who he is!" Italy exclaims excitedly. "Germany said soft-"

Germany leans over to his friend and muffles any of the following words with a hand pressed against Italy's mouth.

"When did you start making porn?" Canada blurts out, being noticed for the second time that day.

"I'm not making porn," his brother denies, though his face begins to flush once more. "It was only a bunch of pictures and that one scene with me and the pole. And okay, so I did like, two sex scenes, but it's not like it's real porn anyway."

A very tangible silence cascades over the room that goes undisturbed until a very loud "What!" is shouted from England himself. The expletive causes several things to happen at once; those being a hearty laugh from France intertwined with a set of giggles coming from the Russian across from him while Japan inconspicuously sniffles into a tissue he presses against his nose. Canada is caught between feeling horrified and amused even at his brother's revelation while England rants in the only way he can. Germany remains silent, though his cheeks heat up from the blonde's admission as Italy cries out how he still doesn't understand and wants a better explanation.

"America," England calls once more, though louder and effectively puts an end to the rambunctious environment.. "What part of that isn't supposed to be considered… pornographic?"

"Well," the young nation begins. "isn't is only a porno if there's actual penetration?"

This time Canada begins to laugh, opting to simply be amused at everything because it's so much easier to deal with and is barely able to gasp out, "Are you kidding? Al, what the hell is going on?"

With a hefty sigh, America rearranges his jacket and zips it up to his chin before sitting back in his chair.

"Look," he begins. "I was talking to Hef awhile back, and he was telling me that Playboy was going bankrupt, so I came up with the idea of making a new video that will rake in money that goes straight to the company, like a charity drive. But he kept going on about how he can't make something like that himself because it's just like original product, so I said I'd do something and started up with my own thing. Then some of the girls wanted to help, one thing led to another and it became some kind of bisexual tape and I ended up in a bunny suit. Whatever, it doesn't matter, can we please start the meeting?"

Another silence descends on them, though it's not nearly so stifling or foreboding as the previous.

"That is very heroic of you, Amerique," France says after some time. "I must applaud you for assisting your citizens in such a way… By the way, when will this film be available to the public?"

England doesn't bother to hold back an absolute look of disgust directed at the Frenchman while taking his seat once more as Alfred informs him that an eBay auction will be held at the end of the month for the several copies that will be manufactured.

"Why do you wanna know?" he asks.

France begins to reply, already armed with some sort of perverse reply, but cuts himself short. He may be able to ignore whatever death glare England could throw at him, but the combined auras of Russia and Japan opposite of him spelling his imminent demise has him rethink his words. Instead he trails off with, "No particular reason."

Italy shoots up in his seat suddenly, waving his hand about in the air and beckoning for America's attention.

"What is it?" America asks.

"Did you have to wear those bunny ears?" Italy questions.

Already having no reason to hide anything else, America answers, "Yeah, I did."

"Can I try them on?"

"Hm… Can you wait until after the meeting?"

Italy nods enthusiastically enough and settles back into his seat.

The conference room returns to the normal sort of quiet that resided amongst them before America had come rushing in, only being interrupted by the blonde himself as he clears his throat and attempts to begin their congregation in the usual manner, hoping to continue as usual. It's a fruitless endeavor, as majority of the thoughts flittering through the minds of certain nations are focused solely on the costume America wears beneath his jackets and the actions he might have performed while wearing such an ensemble.

Despite this, things progress as customary, more or less, at least until America stands up from his seat and faces a white board brought in for his use. He reaches up, speaking once more on some inane scheme of his to solve some global crisis, and writes a bunch of squiggles on it's surface. The action brings about his jacket raising itself higher, revealing the small of his back where his normal jeans would cover easily enough, but with this low rise pair he accidentally picked up, a small puff of white is displayed for all to see.

It doesn't take a genius to realize that this is the tail of his bunny suit, and once again England snaps out of his seat, calling all attention onto him.

"I'm sorry," he says and begins to gather his belongings together. "I'm… feeling rather unwell."

"Would you care for my assistance?" France asks suggestively.

"Perhaps what we need is a break," Germany says. "I'm sure you're exhausted as well, America."

"Not really," America replies. "I can go on for hours."

The plausible insinuation is lost on no one, particulary Russia who only smiles and says, "That is very good to know."

"Can we call it a day?" Canada asks his brother. "It's gonna get really creepy soon, I think."

"If it's about the costume, I'll just change during the break," America suggests. "You don't have to make such a big deal out of it."

Though England insists that he must retire himself for the day, the others concur to the arrangement, however hesitant they are to do so. Russia and Japan in particular since their calculating minds still haven't come up with some form of getting America to show off his bunny suit.

"Aw~," Italy whines. "I wanted to ask America to show me his costume before he let me wear his bunny ears."

"Why on earth would you want to see that?" Germany demands.

Italy only shrugs. "It's fun to see people wear new things."

"Yeah, Feli," America says. "You can wear my ears, but I'm not doing that."

"I think I will be agreeing with Amerika," Russia puts in gleefully. "There is no reason for him to be gracing us with his round figure."

Japan looks on at Russia with wide eyes, not entirely sure whether to feel a sort of resentment for concocting an ingenious way to trick America out of his clothes or to grateful for just that same reason.

America narrows his eyes at the other nation, unaware of what Russia's aim is, and says to him, "Are you calling me fat?"

Russia only blinks innocently at the blonde. "But isn't Amerika always asking others what are the best methods for loosing weight?"

"That doesn't mean I'm fat!"

"Whatever makes Amerika feel better."

America's eye twitches at the sight of Russia's smile grown wider, and in one swift motion strips his jackets off and tosses it carelessly onto his chair, ignoring France's wolf whistle at his exposed muscular torso and the sound of England's fist colliding with the Frenchman's face. He kicks off his shoes just as he wrestles with the button of the jeans and wriggles out of them, revealing the bottom half of the one piece and his fishnet clad legs.

The flash of Japan's camera goes wild as America finishes the look with the bunny ears stowed away in his briefcase. Germany rises up from his seat, pulling an admiring Italy out of his own and leads him away from a brawling France and England for the exit. Japan ceases his paparazzi habit just long enough to notice Russia rise up from his seat and begin to stalk over to the blonde.

Japan grabs onto the tail of Russia's scarf with a firm grip, successfully holding the other back from any further advancement. Russia turns back to look at what keeps him from claiming a half-naked America for himself and their eyes lock. From then on it becomes a staring contest for which the winner receives all rights to drag the blonde away and ravish him to their heart's content.

"How's that for fat?" America boasts, not taking in the chaos he's created at all. Instead he poses with his hands on his hips, accentuating the slight curvature his hip bone creates and grins away brazenly.

Canada rises up from his seat as well, and already understanding the dangerous line his brother doesn't seem to mind toeing, grabs at his hand and drags America out of the room.

With his absence, it's as though whatever spell had been cast on the remaining four breaks (though even after France and England cease their fight, the latter takes one more good swing at the former). While no one says a word, a unanimous decision is held to call it a day and they leave the room swiftly and silently, hoping to catch a glimpse of America before leaving all together. To their dismay, it seems as though the blonde has been vacated all together, and perhaps for the best, there's no telling what might have started up again with him on site.

Still, the image of America clad in his bunny suit leaves such a deep impression on many minds that when the end of the month comes there's a fierce bidding war over the last copy of a DVD that has the young nation splayed out provocatively on the cover. Offers from participants located in Britain, France, Russia, and Japan pour in; and there was even one competitor located in Germany that had dropped from the race once the number hit the mid-thousands. Despite this, the numbers continue to rise with a whole two hours left to go before the auction closes.

And while the battle for the last copy rages on, sitting in his California bungalow, America watches the numbers rise up higher and higher with Hefner himself.

"Told you I could get them to bid," the blonde laughs. "I should so make another one to pay off my debt."

xxx

Disclaimer: Oh yeah, I'm totally gangsta rich, yo. T_T

-Heh, yeah...

-Inspired by an unfilled prompt from the kink meme. Not really what the OP asked for, I think.. Idk, I saw it like, weeks ago, I don't even remember what it was asking for. -shrug- Anyway...

-All that stuffz about Hef and bankruptcy, true I suppose. I heard there was issues, but I never bothered to find out how bad it was. I did hear about the mansion being put up for sale though, so.. -shrug-

-Title and quote at the top come from a mediocre band that has a jerk for a lead guitarist. Nah, not just a jerk, he's an as-! -is tackled by censors-